“It’s sad,” my Aunt Frances said from the rehab facility in Holmdel, N.J. where she had been taken after breaking her femur a few days earlier when she reached up for a bowl of cereal and woke up on the floor. “All the people you see here are older people.”
It sounded as if she were excluding herself from that category, but I ignored the temptation to point that out, because Frances is the youngest 95-year-old I know. Besides which, I was happy just to be talking to her after the manner in which I’d learned of her situation from my cousin David, the oldest of her six sons.
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